


Fake

by nagemeikenu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 11:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagemeikenu/pseuds/nagemeikenu
Summary: Sirius has a think about his role in the Wizarding world and the war--very depressing.Based on the adage "Fake it until you make it" and twisted.





	Fake

The door closed with a polite click, and Sirius let out a huge sigh. As he sank to the floor, his hand carded through his black, shaggy hair. Eyes closed, he sat and tried to remember that all the agreements, all the quieted rebellions had a purpose. The reasoning slipped away with the last dregs of his energy. His head hit the door as it tilted back—  
While he gasped and eyes shot open, he remembered. Pain had a way of cutting through everything else and taking center stage. Though his eyes were open, all he saw were vague, color-filled shapes. When his bedroom came back into focus, the reason was at the forefront of his mind as the pain shifted back.

“Keep agreeing, keep quiet, it’s only another year before you’re gone for good.”

Until then, he would take whatever it took. After all, where could he go? He couldn’t go to Remus. Remus’ family had enough mouths to feed besides the furry little problem. Peter was too far, and God knew being with Peter’s family felt like eating endless vanilla custard: quite nice in the beginning, but the longer it was there, the more bored he became and the more he wished he’d gotten a different flavor. James would take him. The Potters were the best option, and the most convenient, really—but how could he ask for more than the last weeks of summer?

No. He’d take whatever his family dished out. James and his family had enough on their plates, seeing as war was drawing closer every day. In any case, if he left, who would be the easy spy? Sirius Black, pureblood, welcomed in all the higher circles by virtue of his name. He hadn’t exactly hidden the way he viewed the “virtue” of that name, but most adults chalked it up to being a misguided youth who’d fall into line within the next year or so. Certainly, his parents believed that—and told everyone else so. It was about time he used it. Regulus was on the verge of joining up—the tender age of fifteen becoming an afterthought to everyone but Sirius. How that came about, Sirius wasn’t convinced he wanted to know. In any case, his attempts to help Regulus never worked. For now, he sat. For now, he breathed in the fresh air coming through the slightly opened window, waiting for the rage to fade away.

The anger was a part of him now. How he wished it wasn’t so. The rage filling him was dangerous, and now he finally understood it. The beginning of the summer had convinced him when his professors, his friends could not. More accurately, he corrected himself, his dear family had convinced him.

Unbidden, images flashed through his mind. The Cruciatus curse was one of his mother’s tried and true methods now. He could hear his own scream, high and somehow still enraged. He could feel the burn of a clever Stinging Hex from his brother, a harsh Severing Charm on his skin from dear old dad. It was thanks to magic that he’d been unscarred from those little ‘family meetings.’ When the last painful memory faded, the back of his head throbbed. It seemed he could never escape pain no matter what he did, how he acted. Why on earth had he thought otherwise, hoped for it?

What hope did he have left, really? It seemed to match the amount of pride he had stowed away. How much a Gryffindor was he being now, the meek and obedient son he pretended to be? What courage did he show when the room was filled with food, wine, and slurs? He’d laughed along. He’d even joined at one point. His brother had laughed at his vile joke so hard he’d spilt wine on the new tablecloth. Had he been brave when he’d told Mother it was his fault, taken the hit to the back of the head? Did it matter, really, seeing as Regulus had gotten the same punishment?

Here he was in his nearly tidy bedroom. Here he was, again, in pain. Here he was, despite everything, doubting all he’d done. Did anything he did matter? No, he realized. Nothing he ever did or said changed anything.  
He’d thought he could fake it until he made it. Obviously, he’d been too daft to think of where he’d ‘make it.’ Of course he could fake it. He’d never make it. There was nothing to make. There was nothing he could really change. Make it through school, join the fight and become a soldier. What did that mean? How did a soldier fight this? There was no clarity, just questions. It felt so dark where he was. It felt as if he was completely alone. He had no brother, no friend near him. James was off in India on holiday. Peter was likely nibbling a teacake. Remus—suddenly he lept to the window. Somehow, he’d known. The full moon seemed to mock him—even Remus was beyond him now. Yet, even as the light from the moon filled his face, he wished he was with him. He wished, fervently, that he was anywhere but this pathetic attempt at a rebellious teen’s bedroom.  
He sank down onto the bed, completely deflated. The energy surge that had him running at the window evaporated. He felt the draining hopelessness come back. He sank back, bitter and ice cold though the summer’s warmth came on the breeze.

No, he couldn’t fake it until he made it.

He could only fake it as long as he didn’t break. Considering how he felt right that moment, it wouldn’t take long.

**Author's Note:**

> SO. This was difficult and easy to write for different reasons--and I'm sorry.


End file.
